


A Matched Set

by ravenoftheninerealms



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:09:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenoftheninerealms/pseuds/ravenoftheninerealms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what you get when you question a telepath.</p>
<p>
  <em>Charles, do you have any kinks?</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matched Set

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a little askbox fic for a tumblr friend of mine, but mutated into something really long because Charles is a tease and wouldn't just get on with it.

_Charles, do you have any kinks?_

Erik, shirt divested and pants long forgotten with his footwear, rug biting into his knees and feet where he kneels. Forearms bound, the rope half-soaked with sweat, straining against them. His hair dripping down, irreparably mussed and muscles shaking, thrown into sharp relief by perspiration. He wants, so badly, growling for it. Eyes bright, teeth bared, snarling with need, taking all he can lick and bite. His throat exposed by a hand fisted in his hair, his eyes glint with a teasing challenge.

No words left in his head, everything turned into pure emotion, a string of _fightfuckneedbitemarkclaimmine_ , a litany pounding through his veins and burning like melted sugar all the way. The fist in his hair tightened, exposing his throat and he fought it, letting loose a snarl that stuttered as he felt breath huff along his neck, a nip under his ear, accompanied by a deep purr from his mate— he strained against the rope, fighting for more of that sound. 

His eyes sharpened, zeroing in on a goal - to hear that noise, more of it, all of it, to taste it and swallow it down. He whipped towards that smell, books and soap and Charles, blindly biting down hard on the base of a white neck, determined to leave a mark of his own, growling into the bite when he felt the sharp intake of breath under his teeth. He risked letting go for a chance to lick the living porcelain, but he felt the cool air hit him once again. “Ah-ah, Erik,” he chastised. 

The groan that ripped from his core twisted into a harsh snarl at the end, entire focus on the man circling him; the blood pulsing _mineminemine_ in his arteries. From where he crouched he could see the bruising, his mark on white skin, when Charles walked past and Erik smiled, teeth bared in satisfaction. A strong hand gripped his jaw after he let out a bark of something close to laughter, once more making his neck vulnerable, his eyes a defiant challenge - "You still haven't learned, have you?" Charles murmured. 

The words bounced off his mind, only sensation flooding him. Inches away, but his mate’s grip was unyielding, forcing their stare. He felt Charles, barely rumpled, drawing nearer, nearly straddling his thighs. He surged upwards, shoulders wrenching back violently, thrashing for any contact he was given. “You’ll buck me off if you do that, you know,” Charles nuzzled into his throat, short, clipped nails of one hand still forcing his jaw, the other digging into where his back muscles bunched, taut.

Erik could’ve cried at the relief brought by the contact - a whine escaping his clenched teeth, head thrown back at the sharp contrast. Charles’ bruising grip on his jaw, skilled lips flushed on Erik’s neck; too damn clever for Erik’s sanity. Hands moving in sync, one gripping his hair, one running down his spine; Charles smirking as he met the animalistic, pupil-blown stare of the bound man under him with a devious glint in his own. 

Closing the few inches between their foreheads without losing eye contact, he fit his presence against Erik’s pulsing, half-sane mind with that one point of touch. _remember, erik, rage and serenity_ he projected, feeling Erik’s mind thrash out, dragging him in, wanting. He chuckled, telepathically receding as he pulled hair, dug nails into the dimples at the end of his mate’s spine, grinding his hips down forcefully, a slow drag of lust as he heard Erik moan something strangled in German. 

“‘ficken endlich’? Honestly, Erik,” Charles breathed into his ear from above, another grind reinforced by blunt nails scraping across his lower back, tongue laving over a bruise on his jaw. The man shuddered underneath him - he took the opportunity to pull away abruptly, Erik caught between a snarl and a groan at the loss of contact. “I don’t care if you've lost the ability to speak English, if you’re speaking words at all we’re nowhere near ‘finally’,” Charles quipped, darting out of reach.

Erik panted, teeth bared, head tilted back, eyes hazily tracking the pale figure circling him. Fingertips teased over his cheekbone, allowing him to turn, briefly nipping at them before they threaded through his hair once more. Another harsh pull and the room re-oriented itself; his finger-chasing had let Charles have the slight advantage he’d needed to practically flip him with only a hand on his chest, Erik easily shaking off the daze of impact with a growl, fighting spark back in his eyes. 

Scrabbling, he managed to right himself, arms still bound behind him, rug against his back, halfway to sitting up before a scalding line of Charles was pressed along his front, halting his progress (regardless of how harmless and small the ever-present cardigans made him look, his frame wasn't much weaker than Erik’s and if he worked at it, just as strong) . Fingers raked tracks down his ribs, the man now between his legs burying himself in Erik’s neck - his back arched off the carpet.

Rolling his hips up,he wrestled between fighting for dominance despite the hand in his hair, or giving in, exposing his throat to lips he knew would be an unbelievably sinful shade of red, deliciously so, if he could only fucking see them- Charles could feel the man’s thoughts liquefy again, internal screaming in frustration when Erik felt a firm grip forcing his hips to the floor.Close enough to feel body heat, his muscles twitched in abortive movements, fighting submission, begging for contact.

A mischievous smile tugged at Charles’ mouth, breath puffing over skin, Erik’s neck pivoting as his back contorted even more under the unrelenting hand on his hipbone, forcing bruises to his own skin with a groan, surrendering more of his neck but eyes still narrowed and teeth bared against submission. The telepath leaned close, careful to keep the only points of physical contact the punishing hold on Erik’s slim waist, tangled hair, and warm breath on the shell of his ear. 

“Such a fighting spirit, my love,” He teased, knowing Erik could feel the slightest brush of too-close lips on his ear and Charles smirked at the open-mouthed panting it caused, adding _but we both know that’s not what we’re after today, is it?_ The projection laced with black-purple lust and strength, trust and devious intent; his ears were rewarded with a strained whine and a flood of thoughts, fuckitminepleasewantLieblingfuckmeyourswant - dissolving into a garble of German and emotion. 

Erik was split in two, one side growling the need to dominate and claim and mark, to control and make his mate fall apart under him; the other side whispering of how delicious it would be to bare his throat in submission and shatter apart and love every second of it, to fall asleep saturated in Charles and to be the one marked and claimed. Unable to compensate, the two trains of thought circling over and over in his skull, he shuddered and rolled his head, thumping a temple on the carpet.

The groan of reluctant arousal that struggled out of his throat at Charles’ breath on his neck cut itself short on a sharp whine, his eyes squeezing closed tighter as he felt teeth, slow and deliberate, scraping the hollow between collarbone and neck. His eyes flew open as the drag ended with a bruising bite to the collarbone, and Erik’s brain short-circuited at what he saw, freezing his squirming need for contact - a mirror still in its frame, five feet away, not a speck of dust on its surface. 

He could see everything, dangerously close to a whiteout simply from the visual: Charles’ teeth in his collarbone, too-red lips twisted into a knowing smirk, lines of his back and arms taut but nowhere near straining, hair barely out of place and shirt gone, demeanor calm but the insistent bulge in his still-present slacks betraying him. A strong hand pinned down his pelvis, large compared to his negligible waist size, purple already pulling into the skin half-covered by an ivory grip.

Removing his teeth from Erik’s clavicle, he caught the reflected pupil-blown stare with a sideways cyan glance, whispering, “Now we’re a matched set, hmm?” Charles watched gleefully as what remained of the storm-green irises instantly snapped to the bruises on their respective skins, and he took the opportunity to rub his cheek over the mark he’d caused, purring at the maintained eye contact and the choked noise Erik made underneath him. 

Head fitted under the newly-bruised jaw, Charles released his hair, pleased when Erik didn’t even twitch. Ghosting his fingers down, he smiled coyly through their gaps as they dragged down to the ribcage stuttering out shallow breaths below him, his other hand trailing up to meet it. Still unable to tear his eyes away, Erik watched, frozen, shivering under the glacial eyes of the telepath that clawed down his ribcage; Charles rippling, neck stretching to push his mate’s neck back even further.

Color flushed high on his cheekbones and spread down his neck at the sight he was unable to turn from, only able to struggle upwards, dazed, as Charles ground against him, thin fabric doing nothing to diminish the agonizingly slow, shameless, utterly controlled pace the man enforced. Helpless under the hands shifting above his waistline, Erik felt the only sign of just how much Charles was enjoying himself, betraying his otherwise collected demeanor. “The stoic Lehnsherr, blushing. Beautiful.” 

Playfully licking a stripe up to where an Adam’s apple worked furiously, the telepath added, “Just how far does that blush go?” the innocently curious tone making Erik’s chest heave, blood rushing too many places at once. Blindly reaching out with his ferrokinesis, he managed to yank the metal button off the infernal, ever-present slacks, throw it elsewhere, hearing a shatter, not caring at all. “I don’t think so,” Charles chided and then there was a hand at his jaw, forcing his face into the carpet, all movement frozen.

And there was no protesting snarl, no angry growl, only the high-pitched whine and more of the blush spreading across pale skin. Charles smiled, bending close. “Stay,”he whispered, reinforcing his statement with a vicious bite beneath Erik’s earlobe, abruptly standing, leaving the surrendering man still unable to pull his gaze away from the solid lines of Charles’ reflection. Strolling casually over to close the windows (he really didn’t need to scar the children), he paused at a dresser, rummaging.

“Catch.” Silver flicked through the air over his shoulder, the packet of lube freezing midair as Erik manipulated the foil, gaze not wavering from reflection-Charles and not daring to go further until commanded, but slightly craving the special brand of discipline it would bring. The telepath sauntered over to his favorite armchair, snatching a cup of tea, absentmindedly stirring it. Settling himself into the chair, conscious of Erik’s glazed eyes tracking him, he purred, “Go ahead, darling."

He became a pained flurry of movement, the harsh rip of packaging and his shallow breaths at the initial breach echoing under the rustling of Charles’ newly acquired newspaper, careful to mind Erik. “Take your time,” Not a suggestion, but a command - muscles in his back already starting to burn where they bowed backwards and stretching even more to scissor deeper, but still not enough, not Charles, fingers falling just short of the place that sent jolts up his spine, time stretching like taffy.

Eternities of rustling newspaper, too-much-not-enough behind his back, and the occasional appraising glance from Charles passed all too slowly, coated in a sheen of breathy sounds and mirror-shine. Finished with the ‘World News’ section, the telepath laid the paper aside, simply watching Erik now, assessing. The rug was unsalvageable; a lost cause, certainly. Most of Erik’s higher brain functions had gone with it, ignoring cramped back muscles in favor of chasing ever-elusive pleasure. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Erik could almost feel the pressure building, if only minutely. He immersed himself in pleasure with that twisting edge of pain, world narrowing only to that and the constant slight brush of Charles’ mind against his. He didn’t even register the whines he let out, his incoherent pleas for Charles to come and take; didn’t notice the now-naked telepath walking to crouch between his already-spread legs, no contact except for a light nip at his jaw to make him all the more desperate. 

Erik’s torso was visibly shaking, muscles severely taxed already -- he felt a gentle grip on his overworked wrist, easing his fingers away and he openly whimpered from the emptiness that followed, no longer holding back any noise made, mentally unchained but physically bound. His eyes snapped open as he felt Charles’ hands ghosting over his ribs, gaze locked, leaning down to touch noses. He placed a soft, chaste kiss on Erik’s mouth, slightly open from his labored breathing. 

As Charles backed away slightly, gentle but insistent hands rearranged Erik, a helpless quivering mass underneath their guidance. Face down, the rug feeling like ice against his burning, too-small skin, throbbing all over with need, he spread his legs and shamelessly tilted his hips on the carpet, ass lifting into the air. Charles accepted the invitation, widening Erik’s legs with his own, biting down on his own satisfied smirk, digging into the muscled back with fingers a touch too harsh to be called a massage.

The sounds Erik made were straight off of a triple-x tape, utterly uninhibited, and the telepath relished each one, matching it with a stream of endless filth and praise that fell from his lips as he worked his way through the major muscle groups in Erik’s arched back. Now no longer spasming, he could feel Charles against him, whispering praise and assurance as he pushed in, draping himself over Erik’s bound arms, one hand a shaky grip on the bone of his waist, the other carding through his hair soothingly. 

Trembling as Erik adjusted, he waited until the metalbender rolled his hips; Charles was in control but needing to be absolutely sure of Erik’s safety. The movement, when it came, was shallow and Charles rose to meet it, pace steady and even and drawn-out. Attempting to collect himself, he wanted to make this last - was determined to see Erik shatter apart, needed it. The man writhed underneath him, thrusting back on his length and the telepath leaned his head on Erik’s, craving the touch it brought him, grounding him against the tight heat that threatened to overwhelm him.

Their foreheads met due to Erik’s twisting, neck arching backwards to beg for potential bruising. Charles didn’t anticipate the intense flood of pure thought at the touch; Erik’s consciousness, no longer restraining itself, dragged him into tangled briars of sharp-thorned want laced with tentative, lanky vines of love and trust. Hips stuttering from their controlled, languid rolls, Charles jerked forward with a choked-off noise, buried completely in the tight heat of his body and the dark-purple emotions of his mind.

The emotions were overwhelming enough, but when Erik moaned, “Move, oh God - don’t stop, please... just, fuck-” Charles complied, their vision spotting black, both caught in the positive feedback loop. He heard Erik let out a whining scream, or maybe it came from himself. He could feel lust pulsing with the metalbender’s sense of being too full, see himself through the other’s eyes - bitten-red sinful lips, muscles shaking with effort. He struggled to keep his mental presence in line, asking permission once more. 

Erik’s response was succinct, ripping at the other’s mind and opening his own up: the mental equivalent of spreading his legs and begging to be fucked. He relished the reaction from the telepath, color rising in the freckled face and neck, Charles biting down on those criminally red lips - the few seconds of quiet intensity between a lightning strike and the rolling wave of thunder he knew was coming. Erik could sense it, the punch-in-the-gut feeling of the man’s self-restraint disintegrating. 

Casting all strict English pretense aside, Charles’ movements grew furious, arm slipping from Erik’s hair to loop around the front of his chest and grip a shoulder to keep him in place as the telepath’s hips snapped forward ruthlessly. The finesse of the strokes was discarded in favor of hard, deep thrusts, their minds blurring together into a mess of instinct focused on chasing euphoria. 

Charles bit down on the base of Erik’s neck, growling around the muscle and feeling the echoing pain, the answering pulse of _yours_ to his mind’s own snarl of _mine_ , twisting and dissolving into Erik’s imminent whiteout. He came untouched, clenching down on Charles’ cock, the heat getting impossibly tighter and the telepath shuddered violently in response, following Erik over the edge and filling him, come dripping from his hole. They rode out the aftershocks, a trembling mess of heat. 

As Charles pulled out he slumped to the carpet, uncaring of the wet stain now adorning it; Erik simply soaked in the dazed satisfaction that overtook him. The telepath released his bonds, sweat-stained rope lying forgotten on the floor where he laid down beside his mate, returning the blissed-out grin and trying half-heartedly to relocate to the bed that was no more than a few meters away. Charles let their breathing even out, but then gently nudged the dozing Erik with an elbow. “C’mon, darling. Bed.”

Erik just smiled, higher cognitive functions still coming online, eventually helping one another stumble into the warm comfort of their bed. Settled in, he traced the purpling on Charles’ neck, chuckling. “Liebling, you might want to borrow a turtleneck in the morning.” Charles gave him a headbutt to the shoulder in reply, a muffled “Fuck you,” coming from where he’d buried himself in the covers and Erik’s arms. He petted the unruly tufts of Charles’ hair, feeling tiredness creep up on both their connected minds. Finding just enough strength to reply before sleep overtook them, he laughed once more. 

“Charles, love, you already did.”


End file.
